


Ti Amo

by VerifyLowDeath



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Angst, Germany is Holy Roman Empire, Grief/Mourning, Heartbreak, I Made Myself Cry, Implied/Referenced Character Death, M/M, Mentioned Germany (Hetalia), Oh My God, What Have I Done, You can tear that headcannon from my cold dead hands, im sorry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-23
Updated: 2020-07-23
Packaged: 2021-03-05 07:42:11
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,918
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25467202
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VerifyLowDeath/pseuds/VerifyLowDeath
Summary: Italy can't stop thinking about him.
Relationships: Holy Roman Empire/North Italy (Hetalia)
Kudos: 33





	Ti Amo

Feliciano would never admit it, nor even elude to it, but he dearly missed the days of when he was a chibi nation.

Of course, some of the treatment he received from other nations were rather unpleasant, it always was. But, Feli smiled grimly, his hand shaking slightly, didn't all good memories have bad times before and after them? There's no such thing as a perfect fraction of life; thats what the yin and yang teach, right? For once, his friend Japan would be proud of him being able to use cultural references correctly.

Italy sighed, using his other hand to slide the paperwork away from underneath the pencil. A dull sadness caused his eyes to crack open a tiny bit, wide amber circles leaking through for the first time in what must be ages. It was going to be one of those days, wasnt it? Thats okay... it's okay to have a bad day. Yeah, bad days are good, nothing can be happy forever.

Ah, how a world with no bad feelings would be. Such a blissful existence, but would it really be considered happiness if it were the only thing you felt?

Feli leaned over the side, opening a cabinet and grabbing a piece of paper. It was a little crinkled; he couldnt help but frown at the indents. Should've been more careful, having a crinkled paper for art is not okay. Italy silently muttered a curse, directed at only himself.

He laid the paper out before him, a blank canvas ready for lines to give it's existence a meaning. Or rather, a purpose. A life purpose consisting only of holding whatever his hand draws upon it, how dull.

Without much of a thought, Italy felt his hand graze across the paper. Graphite stretched across it in a large arch, his hand slipping downwards to create a smaller, yet similarly curved one. Two lines, both connecting the younger and older. Two lines, or in Italy's case, only one.

Had he ever thanked Austria for the connection he had given him? It was strange, feeling the urge to thank the man that was one of the reasons why his childhood wasn't the best. All of the wars, sheesh; Feli could hardly understand how he managed to tolerate him that much as a child. Sure, he enjoyed the sprase moments of familial bonding shared between them, but overall... not a really ideal relationship.

However, the ideal relationship was found in the boy he had least expected himself to fall for. Feli's felt a quiet chuckle climb up his throat, startling the serene silence with a half-hearted gush of air running out of his nose. A strange man, yet oddly charming. Scared the crap out of him, yet managed to get Italy to fall in love with him. What sort of logic was that?

There was none; that's why Italy _loved_ it and _loved_ him.

Two ovals, just a bit slanted. They were just like his eyes...

Those big baby blue eyes. Ones which stared in admiration, yet at the slightest disturbance immediately ran off. Such passion, but they held so much fear. Italy never had figured out what those big balls of blue were really scared of, didn't he? Perhaps it was just another mystery to be left for time to ravage it with its bloodstained hands.

Bloodstains...

Feliciano paused for a moment, his hand beginning to tremble over a multitude of lines resembling some kind of cloak.

He had heard from Mrs. Hungary that that's all there was left. The day he had disappeared, Feli eventually figured out that he had been turned into bloodstains. Deep dark crimson, a color all of them bore. Whether it was theirs spilled, or it was the color left on their hands.

Italy let out a tired and sad laugh, calling out to no one but the heavy silence which brought upon him a great amount of discomfort. There was a heavy silence that day too, he reminded himself as tiny legs came into view on the page. Legs which used to scuttle over to him everyday, whether to watch or to converse. Legs which were gone now.

"Mio Dio," Feli choked out, his hand freezing in place as his eyes stared at what the lines on the page formed, "I just can't stop thinking about you today. I kinda— no— I _really_ don't like it."

He paused, opening his eyes fully to stare at the still being on his page. A damn near replica, or at least how Italy could remember him, "It makes me want to run away, but I know that I can't run away from you. I wish I could, but I can't."

"You always manage to catch up in the end; it's really funny since it was always the opposite. It was always me chasing after you, not you chasing after me. Or at least thats how I remember it, my memory of back then has been getting kinda bad lately," Italy talked to no one in particular, but the need to have these words voiced outweighed any logical option like always. Since when had he ever taken the logical route? "I'm afraid... I'll start forgeting about you too. Like the way you always shied away whenever I looked at you; did you know that you always wobbled on your feet whenever I was showing you something? It was almost like you could never stand still!"

"You always had a hard time showing emotions, but for some reason your eyes always told me how you felt," Italy lazily drew in a few lines, shading the folds of the outfit the tiny character on the paper was wearing, "Whenever you were happy, your eyes always lit up in a way I've never seen before, even today. You always looked at the ground when you were sad or mad... such a polar opposite from Germany."

Italy paused yet again, his mouth hanging open in a loss of words. However, after a breif consultation with his mind, he pressed onwards, "I think you and Germany would have gotten along really well. You two are so alike; if I hadn't known better I would've assumed that he was just the grown-up version of you. The only difference is that he figured out how to show when he's mad."

"He gets really scary when he's mad; I think even grandpa Rome wouldve been scared!" Italy felt as though he should've chuckled, but he couldn't bring himself to do any of the sort. His hand slowly came to a total halt, pressing down on the paper a bit harshly.

"You know..." Italy bit down on his bottom lip, his eyebrows furrowing, "I know you're gone, but I'm still looking for you. I dont even know why; I'm a grown man who should be taking care of his country, but I just... it feels like you're out there somewhere, waiting for me. I see you everywhere I look, maybe thats why I haven't forgotten."

"Do you still remember what I told you the day I left? I still mean it; not a day has passed when I had not meant it," Italy raised his idle hand up to cup half of his face, the subtle warmness bringing a little comfort, "Ti amo, I love you, Ich liebe dich; I'll say it in a hundred different languages and I'll still mean it everytime. People always say that the highlight of your life is when you become an adult, but they're wrong. You were my highlight, you were my everything, my starlight, my sunshine."

"You were my one and only; I dont think I can love anyone else," Italy admitted, tears welling up in his eyes as his curl drooped in a quiet whine, "When I snuck out that night and saw that the only reminder that you existed in this world was a couple of bloodstains; I felt my heart leave me. I had never hurt so badly before, it was true torture. There was nothing hitting me, no scary guys cutting me with knives, but thats what made it so awful."

"The fact that there was nothing but blood left in the place where you once stood killed me," Feli dropped his head onto the paper in from of him, the feeling of tears dripping from his eyelashes and onto the paper below him grounding him to the world somewhat, "A-And it still hurts, Holy Rome. It still _hurts._ It hasn't stopped hurting, not a day, not an hour, not even a minute. Every damn second of the day I'm in pain. All because I fell in love with you and I no longer live in a world where you _exist._ "

"I take it back, I hate you," Italy whimpered pathetically, "I hate you, I hate you, I hate you! I-I gave you my heart and you took it with you when you left! You never even gave me a chance to say good-bye, you bastardo!"

"Ti odio!" Italy felt his fist raise and slam downwards onto the desk, the graphite tip shattering into nothing. All that remained that reminded Italy of it's existence was the black mark left on the wood it had struck.

"Italy?" A rough german accent echoed throughout the house, alerting Italy, "Is everything alright?"

Feli stuttered over his words, choking on things he desperately wanted to say. Tears streamed down his face in fat blobs of saltwater, slowly turning his cheeks red, "Si‐ yes, Hol– Germany! I-I'm okay!"

"...Are you sure?" That very same accent wavered through the air, almost unsure of itself.

"Yes!" Italy called back, clenching his fist as he put forth all of his effort into making his voice sound alright enough to pass as 'okay'. After a few moments of movements, Italy found himself alone yet again. He turned his head back to face his drawing; a distraught and a new sort of upset filled his chest as tear stains and smears occupied the page along with the drawing.

As if it would make a significant difference, Italy rubbed his thumb onto the cheek of the person drawn on the page, "...Please come back. I dont care what it takes; I'll even dissolve my own country for you. I'll do _anything_."

Like expected, nothing but silence returned; Feliciano couldn't help but feel a little disappointed by the lack of reply. As if a piece of paper would give him the answers to how to fix this plague eating him alive on the inside, "Did— Did you know that... you're the only person I've ever shown my eyes to? Not even my big brother knows them; not even grandpa Rome and he raised me..."

"I always hated my eyes, too bland in my opinion, but you... you made me like them just for a moment. In that second when I opened them for you; I had never seen you look so stunned and amazed. I'm so happy I managed to be the only one to make you look like that," Italy whispered softly, a tad bit afraid of being heard, "I wonder... if you figured out right there and then that I loved you. Probably not, you're kinda stupid, but at the same time it had to have been obvious enough, right?"

"...Ciao, Holy Rome," Italy folded the paper neatly, closing his eyes once the drawn eyes were out of view.

"I hope that one day I won't have to say that to you anymore."


End file.
